Project Black Mamba
by kkurtenbach5
Summary: Written for Revolution Redux: Prompt #123. When Charlie was twelve, she was caught in the woods by Tom Neville. He was working on secret military operation to create the perfect spies. Ten years of grueling training later, she going to meet the men whom she believes stole her childhood.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Written for Revolution Redux. Prompt #123: Charlie grows up in the militia. This turned into a multi chapter fic of stuff. So weekly updates though. That'll be exciting. Reviews are always welcome (and encouraged.)**

The wood was hard on my back as I was staring up at the stained ceiling above me. They wouldn't put us in the barracks anymore. Apparently we scared the soldiers in the camps, so they started to put us up in different abandoned houses. It wasn't like we cared; all of us were beyond that. We all slept in the same room, and normally it was soothing; tonight I was just restless. I sat up from the creaking floor, giving up on sleep for now; instead attempting to pull the memories of my family through the thick haze where I usually kept them. I couldn't give up information that I didn't know.

I don't even remember what my mom looked like. I can't help myself from thinking of Danny every day; his face having blurred a long time ago. If I try really, really hard, I can almost remember what he and dad looked like. Well, what they looked like the last time I saw them. When the ass-hats in charge started to give us more leeway on solo missions I found Danny and my father. I never went up to them, or spoke to them, but I left them presents on their birthdays. Let them know I was watching over them. Remembering things like that helped me. Because hell, I was starting to forget that my name had been Matheson before.

After my mom left, my dad told us if we were ever taken we were not to use our real last name. Every day we had had to go over a back story so we could remember it. It was so ingrained in my head I believed it most of the time. So naturally, when I was taken, I gave my name as Charlotte Meyers. Daughter to Ben and Maggie Meyers and sister to Danny Meyers. We had left our town three months ago, ending up in another just as forgettable community in Ohio. The militia had taken me one year after my mom left to keep us safe. No, that wasn't right. A man named Tom Neville had been in charge of recruiting us. No one else knows who we are.

I am one of ten members of Project Black Mamba. Something that not even President Monroe and General Matheson knew about. We had been trained starting the day we were taken. Granted, we weren't the only ones. All in all one hundred fifty two eleven-year-old children were taken from all over the Monroe Republic and put into training. Seventy-three of them were now dead. Forty-four of them were wishing that they were; trapped in various dungeons and torture chambers because they had tried to revolt or finished the program too late to be set free. The other twenty-five had turned into the pride and joy of the army. They were the "finest group of soldiers ever produced" at one of the enlisting center. The additional six years of training were what had given them an edge as opposed to natural talent. All of those men (because yes, they were all men) had a tendency towards violence that made them good soldiers, but not good spies. The ten of us were the ones with enough of everything necessary. Ten years of training turned us into expert killers, trackers, bowmen, swordsmen, assassins, executioners, and schmoozers. We were, for all intents and purposes, the perfect spies.

And tomorrow marked the first time we were going to meet the President of the Republic, Sebastian Monroe himself. We were being given, as a _gift_ – the word made me shudder with disgust – by Mr. Neville, our perennial protector, to our gracious dictator. He said it was simply time that our existence was known, but we all knew it was because he wanted a promotion. And unbeknownst to the nine people that knew be the best in the world, I was going to see my uncle Miles for the first time since the blackout had begun. My teammates could tell that I was off, but they also knew I didn't want to talk about it.

I had always been able to separate the astounding things I had heard about my uncle doing from the warm feeling I got when I thought about him before the blackout. With our impending meeting, I wasn't sure if I could continue in my denial. It didn't really matter at this point because I've definitely done worse than him by now. I've also had worse done to me, but that isn't relevant now.

Restless, I stood and crossed to the door. We all would leave at some point tonight, hitting different bars and taverns to garner information just by being there. I was early, but that shouldn't be a problem. Before walking out the door, I slipped on my hooded militia jacket. It was my favorite, and it was unmarked in a dark fabric, making it easy to blend in. There was a Monroe symbol hidden in the cuff of one of the sleeves. We used it to signal whether we were in trouble. If it was showing, we needed help.

Even without thinking, I followed my training to a tee, staying in the shadows, half listening to all the people around me, watching the soldiers along the street for any signs of discontent. Pausing to scan the crowd, I ducked into an inconspicuous looking bar. A haze of tobacco smoke hung in the air, choking me. It wasn't common nowadays, making the fact that it was filling what had looked to be a hole surprising. I hid my surprise, simply moving to the bar and ordered a whiskey. I longed for the burn in my throat. Unfortunately, with the training alcohol didn't really affect them anymore. All of us had built tolerances to what were seen as "truth serums" and some of the poisons made our tolerances to alcohol ridiculously high. I still loved the taste though. Especially this. The hole I'm in continues to surprise, high quality whiskey is hard to come by.

I sat there for about and hour, nursing a few drinks. The only lasting affects would be to my wallet. Thank god I was funded by the government. Any questions I had about why there were so many high end goods were answered when every person in the bar suddenly stood at attention. Being in a back corner, no one had noticed me even before they walked in so they didn't notice when I didn't stand. Everyone was captivated by the three men who were now moving towards my side of the room. I shifted slightly, a hand reaching up to adjust my hood further over my face. They had deep cowls, and lent to an air of mystique that we unintentionally gained through our years of training. The reflex of hiding my face had been beaten into me when it became clear that I was, as I had been told, gorgeous.

Before they got here, I had been intending to leave; my head had cleared in the smoky interior of the bar and I felt a few hours of additional rest would do me good tonight. That plan flew out the window when all three big wigs sat down at a table less than fifteen feet from me. There was no way I was going to get out of this place without being noticed.

Settling in for a long night, I trained my gaze blankly in the distance and my hearing zeroed in on what was going in at the other table. Miles pulled memories from the deepest recesses of my mind, ones that I hadn't even realized still existed. Memories from before the blackout. Our family hadn't really been close, but I know that I had seen him at few Christmases. He was the man with dark hair and chocolate brown eyes. There was another man with lightly tanned skin, straight dark blonde hair and light eyes. Apparently his name was Captain Baker. It turned into Jeremy when they got progressively drunker. That meant the final man at that table was the great Sebastian Monroe. He would be ludicrously attractive. Between his jawline, curly hair, and light sapphire eyes he was almost hard to look at. And a glance at all of their postures told me that they were all fighters and even under their clothes anyone could tell they were fit. As the hours passed the occupants began to filter out of the door. Throughout the night I felt a shifting gaze on me, it happened a few times before I realized that it was this Captain Baker.

It was hours before they got done commiserating. I had been starting to loose focus, but my gaze still lingered on nothing in the smoky room. Miles was the first to leave, with the President soon after. Both were weaving slightly, having imbibed a fair amount of alcohol. Those two took just about every soldier that was left with them. Guess a president did need an escort. Removing a small bag of diamonds from my pocket, I drained my final glass of whiskey and moved to leave. Captain Baker looked up at me as I moved past his table in my quest for the door.

"How – how're you still st-st-standing?" He half slurred, half stuttered at me. With a practiced smile, I leaned forward and braced my hands on his table. His eyes were firmly glued to my chest which was showing through the gaping zipper of my jacket. Smiling I drawled down at him, "Practice." Swaying my hips side to side I moved towards the door, knowing his stare was glued to my ass. I hadn't been trained in seduction techniques for nothing.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: To acknowledge Bellabear's review: this will be Charloe. I can't help myself when they're together in a story. They just don't stop. **

Even after having been gone for hours, I still wasn't the last one back to the safe house. Over the years we had gotten used to sleeping in shifts. It was easy because none of us _could_ sleep for more than two or three hours at a time, and six hours a night was generally a luxury. Granted, we could all take catnaps against anything and everything at any time. I closed my exhausted eyes and slipped immediately down into a soothing plane of unconsciousness.

I woke suddenly. My training preventing me from moving as I transitioned from sleeping to fully aware, keeping me from giving myself away as I listened to the room. When I was satisfied that no intruder was there I sat up and took in my surroundings. Mark and Jackson were awake. I heard a creak from the floor upstairs and realized that someone must be doing a circuit, another quick survey of the room told me it was September. She was by far the quietest of our group; the petite woman was able to break into just about anywhere undetected. The fact that she made a noise probably had more to do with putting us at ease. If there had been an intruder she would have knocked on a wall.

Grabbing my knapsack, I moved to an adjoining room. Quickly I changed into a new set of clothing, one of three that I carried with me. I also had dried rations to last me three weeks, four different knives, and a few other assorted clothing and hygiene items. The few non-weaponry luxuries I indulged in were a nice smelling bar of soap, it was flowery – apparently lilac, but I didn't really know; and I had a nice brush. It was good quality and durable. Just what every girl needed. After I slid my jacket back on I repacked and made my way back into the other room.

I dropped to the floor where I had slept, crossing my legs; I let my mind wander as I sharpened my favorite knife. It had been a gift from one of the many people that had trained me over the years. Josiah hadn't had a wife or children, and even before I met him he was ancient. He had been one of the scariest people I had ever known. And one of the best knife-wielders probably in the world. Most likely. No one really knows these days, but I hadn't met anyone who could best him. The day before we left our training he had given me his knife. He had looked at me with a look that said he though training us was worth it.

Josiah had given me special attention. Out of the other fifteen kids still left in my training group, he had chosen me. He told me I was naturally skilled at swordplay, something that I attributed to my estranged uncle Miles. We were leaving him tomorrow. My heart squeezed unexpectedly at the thought of leaving him. It had been four years since I had been taken, and three since I completely shut down to protect myself. Feeling emotions was alien. He marked the first time that I was actually the best at something. Granted, I wouldn't have made it this far into Project Black Mamba if I wasn't good at what they were forcing us to do. God I hated that name. It was so stupid. Like whoever chosen it had been going for the coolest think they could think of. In my opinion they had failed.

"Open it kid."

I looked down at the pouch of soft tanned skin Josiah was handing me. Feeling through the material, I could tell it was some kind of knife. Intrigued, I opened it slowly. In my hands was a thin knife that was about a foot long. I didn't recognize the make, but I could tell it was good quality. Carefully I moved my right hand to the hilt and unsheathed the a few inches of the blade. Slipping the full length from the scabbard I switched my grip, flipping it back and forth in my hand; trying to familiarize myself with the blade. I didn't even notice the smile on my face until I looked up into Josiah's beaming face. He looked so happy that even though I didn't know exactly what this knife was, I still recognized the quality and had started to use it.

"It's a Fairbairn-Sykes fighting knife. Got it when I fought in World War II." He shook his head at the look I gave him. I hadn't realized he was so old. He chuckled a little before continuing. "One of my friends gave it to me. He was from England, and his brother died fighting by his side. For some reason Eddie thought I deserved his knife. Now I'm giving it to you."

Tears pricked the corners of my eyes and I looked down, definitely unused to my emotions. His eyes also brimmed with tears as he pulled me into a hug. I buried my head into his shoulder as I let out the emotional pressure that had been building inside me for years in a flood of tears. After a few minutes he pulled back, nodded and smiled at me. Somehow he knew. He knew the turmoil that I kept locked inside my soul.

Right then I knew he felt it to. Staring at him, I realized that I needed to be able to let my emotions out. I wouldn't survive anymore if I continued to lock them away. That lesson changed my life. It was the day I learned to use my feelings to my advantage.

I received word six months after we left that Josiah had died. Stubborn bastard had been sick and refused treatment. It wasn't the way he deserved to go out, but it never seemed to be. It also wasn't a surprise. Incidentally, every other person that had trained us also died within a year of us leaving. And they thought we wouldn't notice.

After every off-site training session we were subjected to both our instructors and some of the other trainees either died or disappeared. When we were taken, they combined us eight training groups of about twenty kids apiece that had slowly been taken down from original number. When a group got to five kids it was combined with two more. Within five years we had only two groups of thirty, a year later one group of forty. From that only ten of us remained. The fact that half of us were men and half women was purely incidental.

I was shaken from my reverie by an apple rolling into my knee. I looked to it's point of origin. A smile came to my lips my eyes met Mark's from across the room. I could tell that he had been awake for a while, but I apparently was so wrapped up I didn't even notice. Out of everyone else, we had been together the longest. Our groups had been combined in the first round, when we were thirteen; we hadn't parted since. Frowning, I looked down at the apple clutched in my hand. Using my knife I cut off pieces of the apple and chewed them slowly, really tasting it.

I had to tell my partners about Miles. Our relationship might affect what I would be willing to do, and they deserved to know that I was compromised. I sighed heavily and looked up at Mark, whose brilliant emerald eyes had taken on an inquisitive look. Shaking my head slightly I glanced over at our sleeping comrades to let him know that I would tell them all later.

We sat in a circle in the living room. All of us were on high alert, but weren't expecting Neville to come get us for another twenty minutes. We sat in perfect silence as usual, long past the point where we needed to fill anything between us. Going through the exquisite torture that was training did that. Well, that and being actually tortured.

I took a calming breath then started. "My real name isn't Charlotte Meyers." No response. But I could tell that I had the attention of everyone in the room. We all knew each other's body language like the back of our hands. When Jane and Lily had started sleeping together we hadn't needed them to tell us, we knew the next time we saw them together. They had told us anyways but that was beside the point. Generally, there wasn't anything that we needed to tell each other. The absolute quiet wrapped around us had taken on tense, unsure quality.

"It's Charlotte Matheson." I looked up slowly. Mark was looking at me concerned. The emerald embers of his eyes glowed in reassurance. Tim, by far the most mature of us and therefore the de facto leader, turned from the window to pin me with his eyes, which were so dark they were almost black. "Okay," he said slowly, "is Miles...?"

"He's my uncle. But that in no way means I'm okay with killing him. If anything has to happen I need you guys to – take care of it."

Tim nodded and turned back around. The tension drained from the silence, leaving a comfortable understanding in its wake. "Neville's here. Now remember to make the snake proud." Jackson's tone was dry and sarcastic. I snorted in response.

We all stood and looked to the door just before Neville opened it. Looking vaguely disturbed he paused before swinging the door wide and gesturing for us to follow him. In silence between us continued. Neville tried to make conversation with other soldiers in our completely unnecessary escort, but stopped after he failed a few times. They were unnerved by our quiet pitying looks. All of us began to look at every militiaman we saw with a look that said, "You're going to die soon. Maybe today. Probably today. That sucks for you." We were all constantly cold and emotionless to the outer world. Observers of fates that we couldn't, nor wanted to, control.

We were led through the outskirts of Philadelphia into the city, pulling the gazes of every person we passed. Their looks ranged from inquisitive to fearful before they all quickly looked away and rushed on. All seemed surprised to some degree at our armaments. I was confused until I realized most of them were used to guns as opposed to our assortment of knives, swords, and bows. Forcing down the frustration rising in my throat I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. These city folk had no fucking idea. Bullets still weren't plentiful. Their use couldn't really be justified in most cases. If this was true, how had these people become used to it?

Maybe it was the fact that we didn't look like soldiers. When Black Mamba had been created, it was the early days of the Militia, so everyone in contact with us had been on high alert. We had been hidden well in those days, our existence written off to stories of crazy terrified people. Even now most of the time people looked at us like we were ghosts. Or ghouls. But when I was fifteen literally everyone was still armed to the teeth, so as young as we were it wasn't odd for us to know how to fight. Maybe it was just because we weren't in full militia uniform. Our combat jackets were safely in place but the Militia symbol wasn't showing.

The general milling of people increased the further we got into the city. Nothing had seemed amiss so far, but the next few minutes would be indicative of how secure this place actually was. There was a throng of traders and high society types around the gate to the President's mansion. From the looks of them, they were there daily. And they too looked shocked at our appearance. Did we really look that different from other soldiers? It's not like we were covered in blood.

Neville opened said gate and let us into the yard. The front door burst open and a man that looked eerily similar to Neville flew out. He rushed over to Neville and loudly whispered, "Dad! Who are these people? You were supposed to come alone for your orders." At the thought of Neville being anyone's father broke our perfect masks. We froze simultaneously, our faces showing emotions that ranged from incredulous to overcome with shock.

Neville's face whipped towards us, his features painted with fury. "Keep going." He hissed and turned back to his boy. We moved up the path to the small porch that was attached to one of the largest personal homes I had ever seen. We settled into a familiar position on the porch. One that we could attack from and easily defend. I saw Lily and Tim look back towards Neville and the kid, but kept my own gaze roving from the men to the edges of the fence and house to the right. My hearing was focused in on Neville and Neville Jr. Fuckers probably thought they were being somewhat sneaky.

"They are with me. To help us with Georgia." Tom looked over at us, his face sickeningly proud of both us and himself. The boy looked at his father like he had gone crazy. "Now quit embarrassing yourself." With that the elder Neville brushed by his son and stormed through the center of our group up through the door. I threw the boy a pitying look as he rushed through us after his dad. We all followed them into the exquisite house.

The layout was straightforward enough. I looked down each hallway we passed, and through each open door. They were well armed here, and well trained. I recognized one of the men. And then another.

Son of a bitch, these were the twenty-five men who had been cut from our training with various issues. Not normal issues. Respect problems, extreme misogynistic views, or dangerous tendencies towards violence. They hadn't been up to snuff. Hell, at least half of them killed and raped for fun when we had been outside of the republic on previous missions. I could imagine that they would stop their practices. By the looks they were shooting us, they recognized us too.

We caught up to Neville as he knocked once on a door then walked through without waiting for a response. The muffled conversation we had heard through the door abruptly cut off and we heard Neville say, "Gentlemen... and Mrs. Matheson. How nice to see you." Tension suddenly rippled through the group. Matheson. Who could that be? If Miles had married, there would have been some type of announcement. He was a founder of the goddamn Republic for fuck's sake.

To outside eyes the shift in our emotions was imperceptible; distress coiled through me and I could detect an unsure tension flow through every one else. We all sauntered through the door seemingly unconcerned; me between Mark and Jane, the third person in the door. We all stood firmly in a line behind a smirking Neville. By no means did we feel any loyalty to him, but he was the only reason we were here.

Looking around I recognized the three men from last night, a few additional militiamen and... my mother. What was she doing here? I took a deep breath to steady myself, but showed no additional outward signs of distress. This was going to be interesting.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Sorry this is late-ish. I had a version of this written, but scrapped it. Please review! ****J**

"Charlie?" My mother's voice cut through the silent room. "Charlie, sweetie, what are you doing here? Where is your father? And Danny?" Her voice was measured and careful, but I detected a note of fear buried underneath. Any thoughts in my mind fled. Mark sensed my distress and took a step towards my mom. He quickly grabbed her hand in both of his and shook it vigorously. "So you're Charlie's mom? It's nice to meet you. You are significantly less dead than any of us expected." He released her hand then and simply stared down at my mother. I knew him well enough to know that his eyes would look like angry emerald flames. And his face would be a cheerful mask. After a pause he stepped back, even with the rest of us. My mom's face looked shocked as she passed back into my line of vision.

My mind was slowly recovering from the shock of my mom's continued existence. "Tom?" Miles' voice broke through the tension that had been building in the room. "Care to explain?" Miles looked angry. I didn't know him that well, but as of now he seemed pretty transparent. Coming back to myself fully I let my head turn towards Neville. His mouth was opening and closing like a fish out of water. I was debating speaking up, but the shit that Tom had put us through over the last decade of my life prevented me. He could be accountable for his actions.

"I –I –I didn't know sir," Neville stuttered. It was true. Everyone else had just found out this morning after all. Neville turned on me then, coming over and facing me fully before angrily whispering, "Why the hell did you not tell me?"

I smirked up at him, rising on my toes to put my lips next to his right ear, and whispered, "What? And get killed?" I moved back from him slightly, the look on my face challenging him to tell me that I was wrong. He looked angry but said nothing. Neville carefully schooled his expression before slowly turning back to his superiors. I took the time before Neville started to make his case to study the expressions of everyone in the room. My mom still looked like she was partially in shock. She was staring at me. Miles looked like he was trying to bore holes through Tom's skull with his eyes. And Monroe looked like a cross between concerned, angry, and slightly amused. Baker glanced between Monroe and Miles before his eyes settled pityingly on Neville.

Neville started, his silver tongue having recovered nicely. "Trust me when I say that had I known of Charlotte's – relationship with you she never would have been chosen. But since you appeared to be expecting her to be with the rest of your family you didn't know that she had been conscripted. Tell me, when was the last time you tried to learn of Ben's whereabouts?" My mom looked startled. Miles broke in, "We agreed to leave them alone since she came with us. That still doesn't tell us why my niece is here."

A devilish smile curled Neville's lips, "Well, Charlotte here has been with us for just over a decade… so I feel like if you actually cared you would have known by now." My mom looked nauseous before dropping dead away in a faint. She was saved from hitting the floor by Captain Baker, who helped bundle her into the arms of one of the militiamen that was waiting by the door. He whispered something to the man whom left immediately with my mother. Baker turned back to the room, staring at Miles in concern. Monroe was looking between me and Miles, his face unreadable.

"When did you take her? And why have we never heard of this until now?" Monroe had taken control. He was significantly calmer than Miles at this point. "It was about ten years ago, but do you remember Project Black Mamba?" Miles gaped at Neville. "That? We told you no. It was a little too extreme. We didn't need to train kids…" He must have done the math. His eyes roved over the line of us. We were standing shoulder to shoulder, I'm sure all of our faces had similar passive looks of amusement. "You bastard. You did it anyways." Miles grabbed Neville by the collar and his fist connected hard with Neville's face. Neville's head snapped backwards. Miles pulled back to hit Neville again, but I moved up to them quickly and circled one of my hands around the General's wrist. He stared at me and released Neville. I looked over at Tim; at his nod I pushed Neville back into our group.

We had been planning on taking our revenge on whoever had deemed in necessary to put us through the hell to train us. It was the only reason we had agreed to this meeting. But since it was Tom who had put us through the torture, it was him who was going to pay.

We circled him, shifting our weight. All of us were armed, but no one bothered to get a weapon out. This needed to be slow. Fear pasted itself firmly onto Neville's features. I saw Baker try to pull September from the circle, trying to break through. Jackson stepped forward and kicked Tom firmly to Sam and Jane on the other side of the circle. They connected; Jane's elbow went into Tom's eye socket, Sam's knee in his groin. Together they pushed him over towards Peter, who just kicked him to deflect him to Lily; Peter had been helping September fend off Baker. Lily was an accomplished boxer, and peppered a few punches across his torso before delivering a powerful uppercut into his stomach. There was a wet thump as she connected hard. He stumbled back across towards me; I wove my fingers together and swung my fists across my body, catching him in the ear. He spun and fell hard.

At a signal from Tim September let Baker break through the circle to Neville. We hadn't even done any permanent harm to him. Probably. Yet. Baker threw a glance back at Monroe, waiting for a nod before ushering Tom from the office, probably to an infirmary of some type. We spread out throughout the room; Tim standing as our representative, the rest of us diffusing to windows and doors, getting ready in case we had to fight our way out.

Monroe spoke first. "I take it you didn't know that he was behind your capture." He looked around the room, but everyone held themselves impassive except for Tim, who nodded at the man. "Well, it seems kind of pointless not to use you as a resource since you are already trained. Are you all willing to fight for the Republic still?" Jackson spoke, "With all due respect sir, this is something that we would need to discuss further. And perhaps you would like to see what we can actually do first. Can we spend the next week showing you our training while we all decide what each of us wants to do with our lives now?" I was pleased that they were negotiating for a time frame which we could decide within. As of right now everyone would probably say no, so giving us a little time would be essential if they wanted to make use of the extensive training we had been given over the years.

Monroe nodded. "That would be fine. We'll put you up in some of the guest rooms while you're here. Follow the man outside the door, he'll show you to your rooms. I'll expect you all to show us what you can do tomorrow." Tim nodded and spun to leave the room, all of us moved to follow him. "Charlotte, if you could stay behind for a moment." Miles looked at Monroe with a look that said he wasn't expecting this either. I nodded; both the let my comrades know that I was okay as well as agreeing to stay. I heard the door shut softly behind me before Monroe gestured to one of the chairs in front of his desk. I sat in one, Miles in the other. I looked around curiously, wondering why I was still there.

"How long ago were you taken?" I squinted at Miles slightly, wondering if he was being serious. Neville had been telling the truth. "It was a little over ten years ago." His face fell, he looked at me apologetically. "I'm so sorry. What did he put you through?" Rage had crept into his voice. I just shook my head, "there's no way for me to tell you everything, and honestly, I don't trust you enough to tell you. I haven't seen you since before the blackout, hell, I _barely_ remember you. So you the fact that you're technically family doesn't mean a whole hell of a lot especially since it was one of your subordinates that "trained" me."

He nodded slowly. "I guess that's fair. But we will be asking everyone else too." I shrugged. "Go for it. I'm guessing they won't tell you anything either. It was a long ten years." I got up to leave, only to be stopped by Monroe. "Charlotte I was actually hoping to discuss something else with you." Intrigued I sat back down. I glanced over at Miles to see if he knew why I was wanted.

Miles and Monroe's gazes were locked together. Their expressions were changing minutely, the silent communication between the two men actually pretty impressive. From what I could tell it looked like Monroe was asking Miles to leave. With what I could only describe a huff, Miles got up from his chair and stalked from the room. Monroe stared at me wordlessly as the door slammed behind Miles. Neither of us made any type of reaction. I didn't bother schooling my expression when he crossed the room to pour two glasses of some type of alcohol. Our hands brushed as he handed me the glass, he held onto the glass a little too long, prolonging the contact. He sat in Miles' vacated chair, sipping slowly the amber liquid in his glass. Damn. This man made the simplest actions look like porn. I took a sip of what turned out to be scotch, savoring it before swallowing.

"So what were you doing at the Bannered Mare last night?" I actually wasn't surprised that he had seen me. He obviously had some reason to talk to me, and I couldn't think of any other reason. "Just letting off some steam." He snorted at my answer. It was a lie, but Monroe being able to tell was a bit of a surprise. "Yeah, you drank me under the table but you looked perfectly fine. How?" I let my answer bounce around my brain for a minute before answering. For a second I debated telling him what I had said to Baker last night, but I didn't think he'd believe me. "I have a high tolerance."

I glanced over at him, his face held an incredulous look, one eyebrow raised. Unable to help myself, I snorted before saying, "A really high tolerance." He smiled back at me before his face turned thoughtful. Quickly he glanced down before meeting my eyes, "It's because of something Neville did, isn't it?" I gave him a look that asked him how else I was supposed to gain that high of a tolerance to alcohol. He sighed before standing, moving over to my chair. I just stared up at the hand he held out to me before taking it. He helped me up, not moving away so we ended up with our faces inches apart. I couldn't help my eyes from flicking down to his lips. My tongue flicked out to wet my lips in anticipation. We locked eyes, he leaned towards me our lips just about touching when there was a knock at the door.

He slid backwards a step and steadying himself. He dropped my hand like it was burning him. I didn't take it personally. He couldn't be caught in a compromising position with me. Miles would probably kill him, which in my opinion would be a drastic over-reaction. We hardly knew each other. He had no right to tell me what to do.

Monroe looked back at me, his eyes conflicted. "Ask one of the guards outside to take you to your room. It'll be around your teammates. Then someone should give you all a tour. I'm expecting a lot tomorrow." I threw him a saucy smile before walking to the door. "I hope you're not disappointed." With that I left to find my friends, my mind spinning with what I had to tell them.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Ummm. I'm super sorry I haven't updated for like six weeks. It was a tough finals week. But now I'm back. So let's do this. **

The soldier leading me to my room kept glancing at me. Leading was kind of a misnomer. We were actually just walking side by side. I don't follow people that I can kill without a second thought. And this house is even bigger than I figured from what I could see on the outside. Some mixture of relief and regret flowed through me as I saw that I was being led outside to what I'm assuming at one point was a guest house. Astute of the man to realize that we would be more comfortable together and slightly isolated from anyone else. But it would have been fun to see how quickly I could break his resolve and get him to fuck me. It would be decidedly harder when I had no reason to wonder the halls at night.

I stopped the soldier a few dozen yards from the house, sending him back. Laughter threatened to burst from me as I saw the relief evident on his face. I turned to my quarters for the next week. Slowly my eyes roved over the structure, taking every detail in. I also turned to see what else was in the yard. The grass was cut, an impressive feat these days. There were militia men posted at various posts, but none were very close to our house. I couldn't be sure if that was due to their orders or their own unease at approaching our house. Either way, I was glad they were kind of far away from us. We would only have to post one guard. I finished with my survey after a few minutes and moved to the door.

A squeal ripped through the otherwise quiet room as I opened the door. Fear ripped through me in that moment, anger blossoming in its wake. I grabbed the pack from my back, rifling through it to get to a metal container of what we called magic paste. It was really a mixture of lard, grease, and what was left of some coconut oil that we found in an old flooded Wal-Mart. I liberally spread it over the hinges of the door until it moved silently.

I pulled a much smaller bag from my pack that held my entire stash of house prepping supplies before throwing my pack next to everyone else's in what at one point must have been the living room. The carpet had been cut from floor and was rolled along the side furthest from the door. Surprisingly there was hardwood underneath. I shook my head. Why on earth would you cover this up?

I moved into the old kitchen. Lily and Jackson were in there cleaning every surface. They hadn't gotten to the countertop yet, which was still covered with a layer of dust that was at least an inch thick. I moved along with them, helping to clean this house. Underneath the dust it really wasn't that dirty, which told me as some point the people that cleaned the mansion had scrubbed this place out, they just stopped keeping up on their work.

Quickly the house was clean. There were two bedrooms and a sketchy basement along with the kitchen and living room. I had ended up with my stuff in the basement with Mark, Alex, September, and Peter. Jane and Lily were in one of the bedrooms with Tim, Jackson, and Sam in the other. Together we moved out to the yard in front our temporary home. Jackson and I split off to go to some stores for food. Well, mostly meat. Everyone else was split off to get supplies, while Mark and Tim stayed behind to start a fire and get ready to make dinner.

Jackson and I had always had a good relationship. It was entirely based on mutual respect. He had been able to take the most torture initially. After one bastard though, we could both take an intense torture session easily. "So what did they want?" Jackson's question was expected. They had known nothing was wrong, so it was just a curiosity thing. "Miles wanted to make useless apologies. Monroe, not as sure, but he does want to fuck me." Jackson laughed. "Yeah, but who doesn't?" I laughed with him as I shrugged. "He needs to get past the whole me technically being his best friend's niece before he'll make a move. So my goal for the next week is set. Honestly I think they'll need to give us more time to make a decision. The only reason I would stay is for everyone else. What do you think?" My question fell on him, and I could tell that he was really thinking over his answer. Really I just wanted to bounce it off someone instead of circling around in my head. And I wanted to know if we would be willing to split up.

"I don't know," he answered honestly, "I know it's unfair to expect everyone to stay if one person wants to, but I don't was to split up forever. If people want to split off to do their own thing though, we can't really blame them. That being said, Lily will probably want to leave. Her family is big in Mexico, so she'd probably do better down there. I just don't know if Jane would want to go with her." I nodded in agreement as we reached the chain of stores where we would buy some type of meat for the next few days. We slid into a butcher shop to look over their options. A smile broke over my face as I saw that they had bacon. It was Sam's favorite and we didn't get it often. It was mid-May, so her birthday was coming up. It would make a great present for the girl. Jackson must have had the same thought because when the butcher came up to us to serve us it was the first thing he asked for. We also got a number of beef steaks, as well as lots more pork, and a few whole chickens. It would do well for the week.

We started hauling our take back to the mansion. "Do you think Jane will go with her?" I asked Jackson. Jane was nice to have around. She was a strong black woman. Definitely the strongest woman among us. It wasn't that we were weak, she was just incredibly strong. She was also incredibly well read, due to her penchant for bringing books back from wherever she went. Losing her would mean losing an incredible asset. "I personally don't think one would leave without the other. And Jane has been through some shit in many of her assignments already." Jackson nodded. "I think you answered your own question there Charlie. Now it's just a question of where they're going when they leave." We lapsed into silence then. Jackson would stay. He had no one to go back to. I didn't know what I wanted to do. It was hard to say right now. I didn't want to leave. This is all I knew now. I didn't know how to adjust.

I was saved from the flood of fear and anxiety by us reaching the back wall of Monroe's compound. Jackson lifted himself over the brick wall, reaching to me to give him the burlap bags of meat so he could drop them on his side. After handing him the second bag I scaled the wall and easily slid myself down the other side. We got back to the house first. Jackson grabbed the steaks and went out to where Tim and Mark were now by a strong little fire. I opened the old but clean fridge, pleased to see a large block of ice for keeping the meat cool. I just put the two bags side by side on the bottom shelf before heading out to the fire.

Mark was minding the steaks which were suspended over one side of the fire using the old oven racks from inside. Tim was minding a huge pot of boiling water. I couldn't really smell it over the sizzle of the meat, but I was sure it was potatoes. For a few glorious moments it almost felt as if we had never come here. As if I had never found my mother again. I walked to where Alex and September were sitting, joining their sides. We sat, waiting for the others to get back as well as the food to get done. The kitchen of the small house had been well stocked with dishes. Not food, obviously, but we were set for utensils.

Sam and Jane got there right as Tim drained the potatoes and started to mash them. Jane brought out butter and a cup of milk to mix in with the potatoes, following her Sam brought out a loaf of fresh bread. Right around that time Mark started taking the steaks off the grill. Just before we ate Lily and Peter both came out of the house carrying water for us.

It was delicious. And it felt like we were back at home. We all worked together. And reaped the benefits. My chest ached with the realization that this would be the last week that all of us were together. There was no way all of us were staying. Hell, I didn't even know if I wanted to stay. I knew where Danny and Dad were. But I didn't really fit with them anymore. Maybe I could learn, or more aptly, unlearn. Somehow soften my soul. There were scattered conversations as we moved sat outside, eating our food. They cut off when Jane cleared her throat. All of us looked to her. Shakily she started, "So – I never expected to be able to leave, and since we can now we're going to take advantage of it." She reached down and squeezed Lily's hand, needing the reassurance. "Lily and I are leaving at the end of the week. I think we're going to try and find my family first, but we're going down to Mexico to be with her family."

Tears pricked my eyes. I was really happy for the two of them, and I figured they would be leaving, but it was the first time that we were all parting without knowing that we would see each other again. They were two of my best friends. And I didn't want them to go, but couldn't ask them to stay. It would be too selfish. They deserved to go find a place to be happy in this life. The last ten years had been so long and filled with so much pain. If anyone could find a way to get out of it, they could – I hoped they would.

Lily spoke up then. "My last name is Martinez, which I realize isn't super helpful, but if you go to the border and say you're a friend of the Geraldo Martinez they should let you across. I'm telling you guys this because I don't know how well we're going to be able to adjust back to normal life and –" Her voice cracked and she broke off. I tried to see her through the veil of tears blurring my eyes but failed miserably. We all understood exactly what she was getting at. It's how everyone felt. None of us knew what to do now because none of us knew how we belonged anywhere else. It felt as if we had been careening towards one future when the tracks fell out from underneath us and we had to figure out how to fly now.

After a few moments of everyone's unspoken understanding Lily continued, "So if any of you need a vacation in a few years just come see us. We will stay until the end of the week, and then we are going to where Jane used to live. See if we can find her family. After which, obviously, we are heading down to Mexico to see my family."

Tim was the first to speak aloud, "Well, good luck. I feel like I speak for everyone when I say we're happy for you two." I nodded in agreement. I would miss all those who left desperately, but they were doing what they needed to.

With that Sam and I did washed the dishes with water that had been boiling in a second pot on the fire. The process was quick, seeing as there were only ten of us. Jackson and Alex brought all the dishes inside to put them away. The rest of us sat outside in a row leaned against the wall of the house. Every once in a while there would be a murmured conversation between two or three of us, but for the most part everyone was silent. I had retreated into my mind, trying to imagine what the next week would bring. Admittedly, a large part of it was wondering who, if anyone, was going to stay with the militia. We had all seen other governments. There were downsides to all.

My reverie was interrupted by Sargent Jeremy Baker himself. He walked across the large expanse of grass between the mansion and the house with an odd look on his face. "Why is there a scorch mark over there?" His tone controlled, his hand pointing to where we made our fire to eat. Jackson answered him, "We had to eat." Jeremy's face was almost indescribably funny. It was the weirdest cross between exasperated and nervous. "Well, Miss Matheson your uncle requests your presence at dinner. All of you were welcomed to come, but I'm assuming none of you are hungry." Everyone shook their head.

Jeremy finished walking to me and stuck his hand out. Rolling my eye I grabbed it, allowing him to pull me to my feet. I dusted myself off lightly, discreetly nodding to Mark to let him know that I was okay with going alone. If anything it would be fun to see them interact. I had already mourned my mother. No longer did I feel anything that resembles a daughter's love for her.

Jeremy and I made our way into the house. As soon as we were inside he started talking to me. "Really? You all had to destroy the lawn with a fire? How did you even get food? No one saw anyone leave and that place hasn't been stocked in at least a year." He kept his voice low but it was obvious that he was extremely frustrated. I just smiled and kept walking. We were used to having to fend for ourselves. And I certainly didn't think they would want to see any of us before tomorrow. I guess me being a "relative" of theirs changes that a bit.

Jeremy stopped as we came to a large set of wooden doors. He stared down at me as he jerked the door open. Maybe he was frustrated at my lack of communication, but honestly, I was generally used to men acting like upset toddlers when they didn't get what they wanted so I just shot him my brightest smile and walked through the door. The interior of the room was luxurious. Huge windows framed with dark velvet curtains displayed the last rays of the fleeing sun on the furthest side of the room. A beautifully delicate dining table dominated the center of the room, surrounded by my mother, uncle, the Nevilles and a few more people including the current dictator. The Nevilles were complete with a beat-up looking Tom, compliments of us earlier today.

There were a number of empty chairs – probably because they were assuming that more than just me would come. I knew that I would be expected to sit next to my mother, so purposefully I strode over to Tom and sat in the chair next to him as Jeremy took a seat next to Monroe at the head of the table. On the other side of Tom was a woman whom I could only assume was his wife. Yeah Tom was a dick, but I knew him and that wasn't true of any other person in the room. He rewarded me by shooting me a distasteful look. The conversation had paused briefly as I had entered but by this time it had recovered nicely. A plate of food was set in front of me by a servant girl. We had checked, even though the servants weren't paid well by any standards, they were paid. So technically not slaves, even though they were probably treated as such.

Miles chose that moment to speak up. "Charlie why don't you come over here by us?" Now obviously he was referring to the other side of the table, where he and my mother were both situated next to Monroe. "Tom and I have a lot that we need to discuss. So, with no intended offense, I will elect to remain here." Miles looked surprised for a second before nodding. Even though I was looking at Miles I could see my mother. She looked hurt that I wouldn't immediately come to her side. But what did she expect? In my world, she had been dead for eleven years.

Shaking off a trivial sense of guilt over slighting them so obviously in front of their peers, I turned my attention back to Tom. "So when were you planning on telling us about your role in our capture?" The blood drained from his face as he froze. Patiently I awaited my answer.


End file.
